Holy Sh t
by Whit Litt
Summary: The Bible as viewed by a teenage atheist, personifying inanimate celestial productions and comparing characters to more relatable sources, however wrongly.Should be witty, and occasionally long winded, and very, very controversial.Please be open & enjoy!
1. 1:1

Holy Shit  
>Chapter 1:1<br>In the beginning, there was Haven and there was Terra.  
>Terra had been through Hell.<p>

She was wasted, and empty, with darkness from her surface to her deep, but the spirit of him seemed to hang over her, as her tears, her waters, cascaded down her round cheeks.

She had potential.  
>He whispered, "Turn off the lights.", and it was dark. He saw the light was good, but, you see, he knew you spent most of your life seeing, and most of what you see are simply distractions. With the lights off, you feel. He divided between his exposure to the light and the darkness, wanting to be fair. Unless, of course, in the presence of dimmer switches.<p>

"Yes," he thought, "dimmers are sexy."

Terra's soul had yet to be born, as her life so was bleakly dismal, to express the severity of her misery and those to come would create you, the reader, horribly depressed. She felt nothing. She thought nothing. She was nothing. Nothing, until Haven sauntered his glowing self into her life and stumbled upon the sorry looking rock she was.

They stayed there entire time together, day and night, with mornings and evenings in between. And this was only the first day.

She cried, he spoke his majestic words, falling from his mouth like thin strands of uttered diamond strands, softly fluttering between her myriad of piercings, rowing their golden gondolas into her ready ear canal. He became what she wanted to be, something, at last to strive for! But sadly never to become. She knew she could never be like Haven. She had her place as Terra. He made for her something solid and concrete, however. An island to rest upon as the seas chaos inside and around her threatened to thieve her sanity. He was her cocoon, wrapped about her distorted, flagitious form to conceal her from the judgement of others and to give her hope that one day, she would too blossom into the liberated lepidopteron that she would otherwise not believe in. He was there, evening to morning, and this was only the second day.  
>In her, he planted ideas, ideas she had never considered or those that seemed unfit to consider. Ideas of life, of hope, that were not only fruit-baring, but those that bore seeds. And those seeds produced into a forest of abundant admiration, to be harvested at her will. The lights were off, the lights were on, and as usual, things happened in between. And this was only third day.<p>

He was making progress in the young woman between the strips of sagging wallpaper suspending from moth-eaten motel room's tightly enclosed walls. There were two sources of luminescence, the bare, bright overhead and the shabby lamp that seemed to be an accidental antique, been out so long that it was not intentionally vintage, and the dust coating would assure anyone's suspicions. And he saw he was good. And then he thought about opening one of those seminars...those people seemed so fuckin' rich...And this was only the fourth day.

He could imagine it now, "Alter Your Lifestyle in Just One Week!"...  
>Feasting upon the fruits of her thoughts, the oceans she was once drowning in occupied itself with swimming fascination, multiplying its existence and spreading nerve endings throughout her body, making her alive. Her cognition soared, her promise plunged deeper. She felt as though she had been in a dormant state, and she was awakening. And this was only the fifth day.<br>And on the sixth day, something new was created. Something deep inside her that filled her with so much life. Something so powerful, that it would change both of their lives completely.  
>Actually, it was two somethings.<p> 


	2. 1:2

Chapter 1:2

He was finished with her, through.

It was nearly time to go away, to move on. To pack up his now mildew-saturated towel on the floor, his heavily-creased temporary attire, his frayed, month old toothbrush, complete with its coarse bristles only to scratch the enamel on his square, heavy-set dentition.  
>And how she wept as he packed his faded leather suitcase, cracked like his soul, Terra thought. Self-induced rain stumbled clumsily down her child-like face and moistened the very soul of her being. Her eyes misted and foggy, obscuring her vision like an early-morning swamp. She then felt compelled to vomit, and in addition to her tears made two streams, streams that branched and rooted across her sorrow expression before falling on her ample thighs, tucked close to the original spout in her imitation of a much younger self.<br>She laid there, on top of a mattress bursting with coiled springs, each protruding into her already weighted-down shoulders. The place she was discovered, cultivated, grown. Haven took her as a lifeless seed and nursed her to a limp sprout. Why? Why had he not left her to die? She traced the corner of the double-size, raised from folded fabric, with her calloused fingertips. She was interrupted by a weathered label. Tattered with age, it read EDEN. What was that short for? PrecEDENcy? Being on the mattress was far more important than Terra herself, and now the long-anticipated reaction of the spring pad releasing its fury left a damaged heart. Then again, perhaps it stood for sEDENtary, as that is how she was on the day of rest, unmoving. It was mocking her.  
>It was mocking her with the same intensity as the small box looming in the corner, as things in the corner usually do. It labeled itself as 99% accurate, therefore 99% of your fate sealed. Ninety-nine percent good, or ninety-nine percent evil. It all depends on the situation. But everyone that had ever been in Terra's state of affairs would agree that that box in that corner provided an ever-blossoming tree of life-changing knowledge.<br>Two products of fertilization, cultivated in the garden of EDEN, implanted and grew.


End file.
